


i was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

by kireiflora



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining, Pre-Canon, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kireiflora/pseuds/kireiflora
Summary: After getting kidnapped, when you return, you expect to fall into your conjunx's arms and relax.That's not what happens.
Relationships: Brainstorm/Chromedome (Transformers), Chromedome/Mach (Transformers)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	i was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Polyhexian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/gifts), [polkaprintpjs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkaprintpjs/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Forget-Me-Not](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25603204) by [Polyhexian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian). 



> Hi im here to write fic of fic yet AGAIN. PLEASE i beg you, listen to this while you read, it really sets the mood. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1yVCeXYya4

When you make it back to the institute, you’re so relieved. You don't drop your guard, you know nothing happening here is particularly _good_. But. Your conjunx is here, even if nobody knows. You know. You’ve held that for both of you, that’s all that matters.

You’re exhausted and aching in so many parts you didn’t know could ache, but you’re going up and down halls looking for him, he has to be here somewhere. Did they not mention your return? If they had he surely would be looking for you. None of that is really important, just another mark against this place, but it’d be nice to stop moving finally. In the grand scheme of things, the pain is just a passing issue.

You’re opening what feels like the thousandth door when at last your optics land on him. Chromedome, he’s right there in front of you, fine, perfectly fine. You step closer, intending to hug him and finally allow yourself to collapse, but he takes a step away from you. You stop, arm half-raised towards him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks you, looking you up and down, but not with any of the poorly disguised worry you thought he would. “Oh, you got back from the kidnapping didn’t you,” he adds, clearly taking in your battered frame. 

“What,” you reply, processor shorting out a bit. “What’s going on?” you ask instead because something had to have happened to him too.

“Nothing?” there’s a confused lift to the word.

“But I’m _here_ ,” you insist, “I made it back. I don’t understand.” _why_ is he acting like this.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he says gently, his now worried optics looking over your frame again.

“I could _never_ mistake you for someone else!” you retort, voice getting strident with your confused pain. “ _Chromedome_ , it's me. How could you not recognize _me_? They only held me for two weeks, and I didn't give them _anything_ , they couldn't-” your spark stutters as his face doesn’t change.

It's not _you_ who forgot anything.

“What have they done to you?” you demand, the pieces clicking together like the universe’s worst puzzle, sending your fuel boiling with rage. You’re going to take whoever did this and tear them apart like they ripped your happiness apart.

Its clear Chromedome doesn’t believe a thing you’re saying, he looks at you like you’ve lost it. He's probably thinking about how a two-week stint of who knows what torture knocked something loose in your mind. He looks at you and never does he recognize that he _knows_ you. Whatever they did, they did a perfect fragging job of it.

This right here, this right here is the only memory he has of you. He doesn't remember that the blast mask you’re currently wearing was his conjunx gift for you. He doesn’t know you love him. _He_ doesn't love _you_.

He doesn't love you because he doesn’t know _who you are_. He doesn’t know what your name once was. He doesn't know you’re a cold construct. He knows nothing about you, not a single detail.

And you can't even tell him because if you tell him and they read him, who knows what they will do to him because of you. Because you wanted to take the easy way to fix this.

“I have to go,” you say softly, unable to look at him anymore, spark breaking as your conjunx is completely unaware of who you are. 

“Um, okay,” he replies, clearly confused by this whole interaction. 

You hurry past him, not sparing another word or look, stumbling down hallway after hallway, so many more steps than you thought you needed to take. Your pedes call out for rest and you stagger sideways into a wall and let it hold you up whilst your vents strain to cool you down. You stay there and whisper to yourself, trying to give yourself hope. He fell in love with you once, he can do it again. You’re still you and he’s still him. You’re still the same two mecha that fell in love. 

You’re already holding so much for both of you, what’s one more secret? You let your mind wander, imaging becoming conjunx with him a second time, how wonderful that will feel. A few months, maybe a few years, and it will be like you were never gone. In the grand scheme of things, the loss of memory is a minuscule issue. You smile to yourself in this dingy corridor, pushing away from the wall. It's going to work out. There’s no other option.

———

You try. _Primus,_ you try your hardest, you try to act the way you did back when you met him the first time but you keep slipping up. You keep almost saying things you shouldn't know about because this Chromedome hasn't told you yet. You keep a running list in your mind, things you can mention, and things you can’t. 

It's clear your bizarre meeting has snuffed out the spark that grew between you originally. 

And you keep acting in the way you have been for ages but he’s not used to you enough for your gestures to be familiar, instead, you’re just being annoying. You can read it in the tilt of his head, the shine of his optics. Where once there was a fondness for your antics, now there is just annoyance.

You can’t stop. You try, you _try_ so hard to put that distance back between you but when you stop focusing you just fall back into your old habits. No wonder he can't stand you anymore. You can't even blame him.

It's hard to even get him to like you again, and you just wish he would look at you one day and something would get knocked loose from what they did and he remembers you and apologizes for how he’s been.

But that's not what happens.

What happens is he starts seeing Mach. He starts seeing someone that’s not you and it doesn’t matter if you like him or not all that matters is that Mach _isn't_ you. You try not to let it show, but it hurts. It hurts to see him with Mach, being sweet and acting like a couple. But they’re not that, they can't be. He has to fall in love with you again, Mach is just…just...

In the grand scheme of things, Mach is just a passing fancy. That’s all. It's fine, you can deal with that. 

You’re his conjunx after all. That has to mean something. Right? There's nothing to grieve about. No reason for the rolling sea of barely contained pain in every inch of your frame. No reason at all.

Turns out, it doesn't mean anything at all actually. 

“I’m _trying_ to invite you to my Conjunx Endura ceremony.”

That’s as far from a passing fancy as one can get. That’s the only thing that goes through your mind as you jerk across the table, shattering glass and spilling concoctions. You’re hardly paying attention to what you’re saying as you frantically try to stop something terrible from happening, looking up at your not-conjunx. “For real?” you only barely keep your voice from cracking with pain.

“Yes, for real. _You_ might not go on dates, Storm, but that doesn’t mean _I_ don’t want a future with someone.”

The tide of grief finally washes over you. There was a reason after all.

That ‘someone’ was supposed to be you. It was supposed to be _you_. You’re his conjunx, his _first_ conjunx. It was supposed to be you again, not _Mach_. But he’s looking at you with a mix of exasperation and annoyance and hope and- “I want you to have a future with someone.” the words don’t want to come out but you force them to.

They’re even true.

“So you’ll come, then?” he asks and his voice is so hopeful you toss out the thought of skipping before you even finish thinking it.

“Of course I’ll come.” You’d do anything for him after all. Even this.

The stabbing pain as your spark shatters into a million pieces is, in the grand scheme of things, just a small price to pay for his happiness. Another secret that’s yours to hold.

———

His happiness doesn't last. Because Mach dies. He dies and you hate yourself because for a moment you are happy to hear so. Mach doesn't deserve that, he didn't do anything wrong except be _better_ than you. He made Chromedome happy and that's more important than the fact he wasn’t you.

What’s important is that you need to be strong and be there for him. You can deal with all your stupid emotions later, your hurt is deep and unrelated to the actual event, his is fresh and painful. Chromedome has to be a wreak, he just lost his conjunx.

You watch as he moves through the motions but doesn’t care to do anything someone doesn't force him to. You’re usually the one forcing him to do things. It takes a couple of weeks but he starts to improve suddenly, and you’re not sure why unable to quite trust it but a little relieved all the same. You’re trying not to crowd him too much, you don’t want him to feel like you’re coming onto him in his grief but neither can you stay away and let him destroy himself.

The last thing you expect is to walk into his room and see him with a box. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” he replies, which _is_ obvious so he has to know that’s not actually what you meant. He doesn't even bother to turn to look at you, just continuing to work, not even pausing to look at the objects and _feel_ anything for his conjunx.

It's not really your place to get in his face about how he deals with grief, but- “Mach’s things? Already?” you’re confused and you _are_ his friend. 

Chromedome just hums in agreement, continuing to work. Continuing without even looking at what he’s doing really, just grabbing and putting away and grabbing again. 

“Do you want any help?” you offer, feeling wrong-footed but unable to abandon him to his suffering.

“I’ve got it,” he affirms, still just going through the motions.

Everything about this is screaming wrong in your mind, and you don’t actually understand what's happening. “You seem…you seem to be taking things…well. Too well. I’m worried about you, CD.” you finally say what's on your mind, optics tracking his movements still, watching for the even slightest hitch in them caused by grief.

“I’m fine,” he replies flatly, “I have it under control.”

“What does that mean?” what about any of this is _control_?

“It means, there’s perks to the job, Brainstorm. I’ve got it under control.”

Your concern melts away into confusion, and then like your fuel turning to ice you realize what he’s hinting at. _Perks to the job_. That’s what he thinks this is? Just a primus damned perk of being a mnemosergeon?

“You fucking did it to _yourself_?” you scream, and finally, _finally_ , Chromedome reacts, dropping the box and spinning to face you, alarm in the lines of his face.

“ _Primus_ , what-” he starts but you’re not going to let him finish whatever bull he wants to say.

“Nobody did _anything_ to you! _You_ did it! You did it on _purpose_!” your legs try to give out beneath you, your spark twisting like Chromedome reached in its chamber and gripped it tight in his fist, ready to yank it out just for the fun of it. The real Chromedome steps towards you, hands raised as if to _help_ you. “Don't touch me! You- you- don’t you ever-” the thought of his hands touching you disgusts you. Your entire world has been knocked sideways, violently. 

_Chromedome erased you._

“Brainstorm! What are you-” he’s still trying to-who the frag cares what he’s doing. Not you.

“Do whatever you want, I don’t care. I don't care at all anymore.” that’s a bold lie, you care, you care so much your spark is sputtering out while your vents fail to work and it feels like you’re dying. But finally, your legs respond and you’re able to sprint out of the room that holds the terrible truth, and down the hall. You just keep running, you don’t know where you’re going just anywhere Chromedome _isn’t_. 

It's no real surprise you end up back in your lab. You barely make it to the desk before your legs give up on you again, and all you can do is grab at your head as if you could just wish hard enough to not know. You would give anything to forget that Chromedome erased you. Not anybody else, not some asshole here, just Chromedome. 

“Damnit.” you breathe, and finally start to fall to pieces like you hadn't let yourself since your return. There is no grand scheme to your tale of love anymore, just pain and broken shards.

You were gone _two weeks_ he couldn’t even wait a month before making it so you never existed to him. You were his conjunx and he just erased you. Erased you like you never really mattered, like you were some stupid memory that was just annoying him and not bringing him any joy. Did he actually even love you? 

Him forgetting was painful but you used that to fuel you, wanting to get back at the world that had done this. But all along it was just him. You never thought about erasing him, but he didn’t even give you two measly weeks. Such a small bit of time in the grand scheme of how long you’d known each other. It meant something to you, the stupid jokes and the kisses and the sneaking off, all of that was important. It was finding happiness in this stupid place, being happy in spite of the people around you. Finding love despite the war. It wouldn’t have even been hard to goad someone into reading you and scraping out all the bits that affected your work if you had wanted to. They would’ve been _glad_ to.

You start patting around the desk, you know somewhere on here-your hand falls around a familiar shape and click the safety off and bring the barrel to your head and hold it there. 

You’re not going to be like him, you’re not going to just fucking forget. But you don’t want to live with this pain either. Knowing he did it himself is so much _worse_ than watching him fall in love with someone else. If you’d never known that maybe you could’ve been happy for him. You can see the future spreading out like a blueprint. He’s going to fall in love again, maybe they’ll be conjunx, maybe not, they’ll die, and….he’ll just erase them too. You weren’t important enough for him to keep, why would you be important enough to change his mind?

It's going to be an endless cycle of watching him fall in love and lose them and forget and you don’t know if you can bear that. You can pretend all you want that you didn’t like Mach, but that’s not the truth. Nobody Chromedome could love could be someone you didn’t care for. How many times are you going to have to watch that happen again, feel the grief of losing a friend and knowing you won’t even have anyone to _share_ in that grief with. How long could you do that? How many? How many before you buckle under the weight of it?

Its never even going to be you again. You’ve fucked that up. You doubt he’ll erase anything to do with you, he’ll still have that bizarre introduction from when you returned as the starting point. The stupid moment where you were so happy to see your conjunx and instead alienated him. He’s not going to fall for you again. If he was he wouldn’t have been with Mach. He’s never going to be happy with _you_ again.

You should probably be glad it won’t be you. You won’t have to die knowing he’ll forget all about you. That should be a comfort but by primus, you want even that. You want to be _happy_ before you die but you don't get to do that. You fucked it up, you didn’t die when you should’ve, when you still had a conjunx. Now there’s just ghosts of what could’ve been swirling all around you, mocking you as your finger trembles against the trigger.

You chase these thoughts in circles. What do you do? Are you there for him or do you leave him. Do you die with the satisfaction of hurting him like he’s hurt you?

In your spark you know the truth and your arm drops and you just start laughing, hysterical. You love him too much to abandon him. You wish you didn't.

“ _I’ll hold it for both of us._ ” you laugh through a sob, “What a fucking _joke_.”

**Author's Note:**

> :D


End file.
